The Wedding Duel (The Dueling Pistols Series) (35 page)

Anguish broke through her. She could love the baby, too, precisely because he was the father.

"I could love any child not my own," he said.

Why the lies? "And if it was your own?" she asked.

He shook his head as if she didn't understand. She understood all right. She wasn't the naive country girl that she once was.

He leaned closer. His lips brushed hers. The kiss shattered her scant reserve. She strained for the power and passion she'd tasted before. Her heart ached with the need. Yet, she couldn't stand the strain of deceit. She couldn't play polite games. She was too honest and forthright for that.

She wanted Keene with every fiber of her being, but somewhere along the line she knew she would no longer be satisfied with less than his full attention. She wanted a marriage in every sense of the word. Yet, he hid himself from her. She couldn't make him give of himself.

She looked down into the little face.

Dark wisps of hair peeked out from under the cap. Her features were still unformed, but Sophie followed the shape of her rosebud mouth, the tiny button nose and the line of her eyebrows . . . the line of her eyebrows. Sophie shifted her gaze up to Keene's face and noticed the same arch, thicker, more masculine. "She looks a bit like you."

She held her breath, watching the transformation in Keene's face. The slip of his self-assurance. She thrust Regina back into his arms. Sophie scurried down the stairs, hearing the baby's startled cry.

Keene was sure Sophie had verged on confessing her guilty secret before she'd run away. He would have gone after her and pressed the issue, but he had an upset child screaming in his ear. Not to mention several distressed friends floating about. He bounced the baby, trying to soothe both their ragged spirits.

He hoped that George and Amelia were making progress in resolving their difficulties. But more than anything he wanted to get Sophie home, to pursue her odd statement that Amelia's baby looked like him.

Although now that he peered closely into the unformed face, he thought perhaps there was a hint of Victor's features overlaid by Amelia's. He sighed. Would life have been easier for him if he resembled his mother?

Keene counted the time in his head. Sophie must be three months along. Surely, she couldn't hide her pregnancy much longer. Perhaps even now the signs were hidden under her high-waisted gowns. Was a baby born six months after marriage enough of an anomaly that he could safely make her his wife? For he didn't think he could stand to avoid her any longer.

He craved her touch, her zest for life. He wanted her easy laughter, her pleasure in simple things. He wanted her bright smile in his heart. Yet, as he knew he wanted her, he felt her sliding away.

He could simply slip into her bed or he could seduce her into his. And he'd never had much of a problem persuading a woman to share her body with him.

He handed the baby to her nursemaid and descended the stairs. Amelia stood in the foyer, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"No progress?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He doesn't want me here. Doesn't want me to see the baby."

Keene looked at the closed door. "I'll talk to him."

"No, Keene, leave him alone."

Keene swiveled around. "What did you do when he told you he doesn't want you here?"

"What could I do? I said I should stay away."

George's words echoed in his head.
Why doesn't she fight
for anything?
"I don't believe he truly wants you to stay away."

"I pledged my obedience."

Keene stalked toward the library. He flung back the door. "If you want your wife back, you shall have to stop sending her—what are you doing?"

George straightened from behind his desk where he had yanked open all the drawers, their contents a jumble. Doors on a cabinet hung open. "What did you do with my pistols?"

"I took them. You have no need of them now." More than that, Keene had made sure all the powder and shot were removed. "Did you tell Amelia of your loses?"

George turned, his nose red and his eyes puffy. "So I can look like even less of a man in her eyes?"

"If you don't want her here with you, then what need do you have of her good opinion?"

George dropped down into the chair behind the desk.

Amelia stood in the doorway. "What loses?"

"George lost over thirty thousand pounds gambling. Twenty last night and another ten tonight."

"Oh, George." Amelia glided across the room and reached for her husband.

He held out a hand to ward her off.

She drew to a halt, her spine ramrod stiff. Her head dropped forward. She stared at the floor as if she'd become a connoisseur of fine rugs and was determining the exact weaver by the pattern in the Turkish carpet.

Keene watched George's expression turn from belligerence to a plea for comfort, but Amelia couldn't see it with her gaze downward. She lingered for a moment before turning around. "Shall we go, Keene?"

George reached for Amelia's hand, but she was gone.

Victor would have shared an analysis of George's actions, or perhaps another cat dying of a broken heart story, but the only thing Keene could think to say before he shut the door was, "You're a fool."

* * *

As Sophie stood outside, the breeze ruffled her short curls. She didn't understood why she'd run away from Keene. It wasn't in her nature to flee from a challenge. But the way she had been trying, subjugating her reckless nature to become some demure correct, boring lady tugged down her spirits.

If she won Keene's affection under the guise of being something she was not, what good should that be? What good was Amelia's perfect obedience when her one slip was wielded like an ax?

Sophie had no idea why Keene had married her. He would do a lot of the things his father asked out of loyalty, but she knew him too well to believe that he would shackle himself to a woman he disliked. It was only that thought that kept her hanging onto the hope that their marriage could be real in all senses of the word.

Yet, she was tired of banging into his displeasure at every turn. She couldn't make Keene love her, but she could be who she was. She would no longer pursue his good opinion.

She paced down the street, impatient to be on the way. At the end of the block she turned and walked back toward George's house. She didn't want to stray out of the coachman's earshot. She should, of course, wait in the carriage, but she was not the most patient of creatures.

As she drew up alongside the carriage she noticed him leaning against the boot. His dark hair stirred in the breeze. Had he been waiting for her to return? Or waiting to see if she needed rescue?

He stepped away from the carriage. A street lamp behind him silhouetted his broad shoulders and slim build. Now was her chance. Her heart thundered in her ears. She sucked in her breath and stepped forward, her hand landing on his upper arm. When he didn't move forward, she hastily revised her plan to throw her arms around him. Nervously she said, "This seems a perfect place for a kiss, don't you think?"

"I daresay so, if your husband wouldn't shoot me for it later."

She snatched back her hand. "Victor?"

"At your service." He bowed.

Mortification danced a jig in her stomach. "I thought . . ."

"That I was Keene. Yes, I know. Happens all the time."

Sophie giggled. Perhaps her impulsive plan for seduction was meant to be thwarted.

"We do share certain characteristics."

"Just as well. He probably should have found my suggestion quite untoward."

"He does exhibit a regrettable steak of stupidity every now and again. Of course, most often it is laid at my door."

She giggled harder thinking of how it should have been if she had just thrown herself upon him as she'd intended. Perhaps her behavior had been modified by Amelia's teachings.

"Sophie."

She tried to restrain the laughter bubbling inside her. Instead, tears dripped from her eyes. She let loose a hearty peal, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"It's not funny."

"No, I know." She couldn't stop.

Victor stepped forward. "Your laughter is enchanting."

Was he about to throw caution to the wind and take up her invitation?

Just then the door of the house opened. Keene and Amelia descended the steps.

When they reached the coach, Keene handed Amelia up. He turned to Sophie. "What is so amusing?"

Sophie bit the insides of her lips. "Nothing."

Keene cast a glance toward Victor, who shrugged. Sophie's shoulders shook with her effort to restrain herself. Amelia's martyred silence and Keene's sharp gaze stifled her unmerited mirth soon enough. Although when she looked at Victor and his amused half smile caught her off guard, she suffered a mild relapse.

All the way home, Keene's dark gaze alternated between her and Amelia. Frankly, if he found Amelia's perfectly composed mask more to his liking then more the fool he.

"Would you like to return to the ball?" asked Keene.

"I should," answered Victor.

Sophie looked at Amelia. "I believe Amelia wishes to retire for the night, isn't that so?"

Amelia nodded.

"Yes, but the three of us might return."

And so they did. Keene's dark eyes followed her around the room when he wasn't sweeping her into a waltz, claiming more of them than was appropriate even for a husband. She could hardly take her eyes off him. She barely noticed her friend Mary Frances and Victor sliding off to a dimly lit corner and engaging in a terse discussion.

"What do you think they are talking about?" Sophie asked Keene as he swept her through a turn in the dance.

"Who?"

"Victor and Mary Frances."

"The heiress? Marriage I should imagine."

Sophie stopped mid step and clapped her hands together. "Really?"

"I daresay. I wish you wouldn't stop like that." But his eyes smiled down on her nonetheless.

Another couple swept by them, the woman's skirts brushing their legs. Keene curled his arm around Sophie's waist and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor.

"Oh, she does so hope, but she didn't think she might aspire so high. He is an earl, after all."

"His pockets are to let and hers are rather full."

The bounce in Sophie's step flattened. "That is what he cares about?"

"I daresay he postponed caring about it until he had no choice, but most marriages are based on power alliances or needs of the pocket."

Sophie stared up at Keene. Not hers.

Keene wouldn't have had any need of her modest inheritance, not with being his father's heir. His brother Richard might have been a different story. And certainly she didn't bring any political clout to the union.

Keene propelled her into a curtained alcove. His intense look cast shivers down her spine. He leaned close, his breath warm in her ear. "Sophie, I want you."

Her knees wobbled, threatening to dump her to the floor, but his arm around her waist was a solid bar of support. He swung her around to face him. Her sensitive breasts met the solid wall of his chest, startling a surprised squeak from her.

"Ah, my pet, you do make the most enchanting sounds."

Her ears burned, but her humiliation was short-lived. His lips nibbled hers and warmth swept down her spine, flooding her body. He held her with an easy embrace, while his lips worked magic on hers. Her jaw loosened and he took full advantage, his tongue touching hers, engaging it in a swirling dance.

She clutched his shoulders, fearing her legs wouldn't support her. The kiss went on and on. He threaded his hand through her short curls, holding her head steady for his onslaught, while his other hand rubbed against the small of her back.

An ache started between her legs. She wanted to press that part of herself against him and whimpered when she couldn't figure out how to assuage the pressure.

He slid his hands down, cupping her and pulling her against a hard ridge that met her belly. He lifted her to her toes, tilting her hips to cradle against him.

So close, so close to what she wanted.

His low moan resounded in her ears. Could it be that he felt the same need for pressure, the same frustration at not being able to get it exactly as he wanted? His mouth broke away from hers. His breath rasped against her neck. Each hot moist burst made sensations race along her body, always returning to the low ache in her womanly parts.

He began a new onslaught, his mouth moving against her neck, finding places that cried out for his attention. She shivered in delight and smoothed her hands across his shoulders, wanting to touch every part of him and clutch him closer to her pounding heart.

Memories of moments like these kept her tossing in her big lonely bed at night. Her throat caught with desperation. "Please, I don't want this to end," she whispered.

"Tell me, Sophie."

She floundered with his request.